


commonalities

by imagines



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Friendsheith, Kral Zera, M/M, Reconciliation, keith pov, seductive Lotor, set in season 5, written before s6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: For anyone else, the cell would appear ordinary. With Lotor inside it, it becomes a throne room—the sparse furnishings of the cell do nothing to diminish his aura. Spotlit by the force field, Lotor does not stand as Keith approaches. His sword may be locked away elsewhere in the castle, but he has not removed a single piece of his armor, which gleams as if recently polished. His hair is swept back from his face, not a strand out of place. Taking the prince out of his kingdom hasn’t made him any less of a prince.Only when Keith reaches the edge of the force field does Lotor rise and come to meet him. “Hello,” Lotor says. “I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.”“Already know who you are.”“My reputation precedes me. But I do not know you.”And you never will.But it’s diplomacy that’s needed here, not cutting remarks, so he reins it in. “I’m Keith.”“Pilot of that little fighter jet in the fray, member of the Blade of Marmora, and—therefore—” Lotor narrows his eyes. “Part Galra yourself. Have I got all that correct?”Keith meets Lotor. Lotor is fascinated; Keith, not so much. Not at first.





	commonalities

The rebels and Voltron gather outside the airlock in a miasma of whispers.

“How can they welcome the son of Zarkon into Voltron’s fortress?”

“ _I_ heard he murdered one of his own generals.”

“He’ll just say whatever he thinks will save his own skin. Can’t be trusted.”

“Keith. _Keith_.”

A hand on Keith’s shoulder; he turns. Not Shiro but Matt.

In a low voice, hiding the accusation under the hum of others’ speech: “I saw what you were about to do out there.”

Lying won’t work—he doesn’t want to, and Matt’s no fool anyway. “Had to be done.”

“We could have—”

“If you _could_ have, you would’ve already.” Keith jerks away from Matt’s touch. “I picked the option that was gonna save the most lives.”

The airlock light blinks green; the doors slide open; the chatter falls silent.

“I’d prefer to exit my ship on my own, if you please,” the exiled prince announces, sounding bizarrely calm. “You needn’t drag me out in chains as if I were a poorly-behaved yupper.”

Someone in the small crowd lets slip a laugh, then bites it back.

The hatch of Lotor’s ship opens, and he climbs down from it.

Shiro awaits him, cuffs held out. “I hope you understand,” he says. “We can’t take any chances.”

“Of course.” Lotor places his wrists in the cuffs without hesitation.

Shiro takes him by the upper arm. “You’ll be treated well here, I can promise you that. We’ve already prepared a room for you.”

One regal eyebrow arches. “A cell, I presume.”

“Yes. We hope it will be temporary.” Shiro is a master at speaking words beneath his words: _Do as you’ve promised, and you’ll be set free._

Keith has no particular expectation that Lotor _will_ do as he promised, but everyone else seems to think it’s worth a shot—and hey, they’ve been trying to catch Lotor anyway. At least he’s in their custody now.

As Shiro leads Lotor away, Lotor turns his head and looks directly at Keith. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly, he faces forward again, and the quiet chatter resumes as they disappear down the corridor.

So that was weird.

* * *

At the conclusion of the world’s most awkward dinner party, Keith heads to his old bedroom while Shiro takes a plate of food to their prisoner. Some time passes, which Keith spends lying on his bed, turning his knife over and over in his hands. Everyone’s probably having dessert, or at the training room, or having stilted conversations on the observation deck. Keith doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be, so his room’s as good a place as any.

Someone knocks, and he opens the door to find Shiro. “Lotor’s asking for you,” Shiro says, eyes and tone equally inscrutable.

Keith can’t even tell if it’s supposed to be an order. “Why?”

“He didn’t say. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

So, not an order, but Shiro’s tone is still uncertain. Which doesn’t surprise Keith, since Shiro rarely communicates with him these days. “He’s locked up, right? So it’s safe.” Keith slips past him, tucking his knife back into his belt, and doesn’t look back. Shiro doesn’t call after him, either.

For anyone else, the cell would appear ordinary. With Lotor inside it, it becomes a throne room—the sparse furnishings of the cell do nothing to diminish his aura. Spotlit by the force field, Lotor does not stand as Keith approaches. His sword may be locked away elsewhere in the castle, but he has not removed a single piece of his armor, which gleams as if recently polished. His hair is swept back from his face, not a strand out of place. Taking the prince out of his kingdom hasn’t made him any less of a prince.

Only when Keith reaches the edge of the force field does Lotor rise and come to meet him. “Hello,” Lotor says. “I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.”

“Already know who you are.”

“My reputation precedes me. But I do not know _you_.”

_And you never will_. But it’s diplomacy that’s needed here, not cutting remarks, so he reins it in. “I’m Keith.”

“Pilot of that little fighter jet in the fray, member of the Blade of Marmora, and—therefore—” Lotor narrows his eyes. “Part Galra yourself. Have I got all that correct?”

“Yes,” Keith says, not looking away from Lotor’s eyes. If this prince expects Keith to lower his gaze in shame—

“You were going to make yourself into a bomb.”

Can’t even interrogate a prisoner—if that’s what’s happening—without _that_ getting brought up. Keith grits his teeth. “I was _going_ to keep everyone else alive.”

“A sacrifice for the greater good. How very noble of you.”

“Seems like you’re alone in that opinion.”

Lotor lays his palm against the force field, the light rippling like clear blue water. “I’m sure I am not.”

“Don’t know why I’m even telling you,” Keith mutters. “You wanted to see me, I’m here. What do you want?”

“Why _did_ you come to me, I wonder?” Lotor’s voice slides deep, a smooth rumble that digs under Keith’s sternum and curls up like it belongs there. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

Keith shrugs. “Curiosity, I guess.”

“Then already we have something in common. I believe we may share other interests, such as—”

“I’m _nothing_ like you,” Keith spits.

“Such as,” Lotor repeats, as if there had been no interruption, “a preference for swords as our weapons, a mastery of flying few can match, an unexplored side of our ancestry, and a tendency to do the last thing that others expect of us. How is it that an Earthling finds himself in the Blades, flying a Galra fighter in a battle against the Empire?”

“Long story.”

“I should like to hear it.”

“Hate to disappoint, but I’m leaving in the morning. No time.”

“Perhaps some other day, then. May you always find victory, Keith.” Lotor inclines his head, not quite a bow but more than a nod.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Leaving the room, Keith glances over his shoulder. Lotor’s still watching him, the same smile on his face as when he arrived on board. Nothing is getting less weird, but that’s pretty much Keith’s entire life.

* * *

Victory, as it turns out, looks a hell of a lot like sabotage. Keith punches the deactivation sequence into bomb after bomb, knowing he’s going to run out of time no matter how he plays this. Only seconds left now before his certain death. He tears down the hallway in semidarkness, racing the countdown, eyes set on the little patch of light through the final archway. He’s never cut anything so close as this.

_Don’t think about it, don’t imagine how it’ll feel, probably feels like nothing, one second you’re there, the next you’re red mist_ —he’s closing in, just a few feet more, there’s a fight going on outside now, shouts and clanging metal, laser fire, a whole new world of peril, _doesn’t matter, don’t think about it, go go go_ —no time to process why the fucking _prince_ is there, _just get him out of the way_ —the prince yells in pain when they hit the steps and keep falling, and the blast roars out of the hallway above them, awful heat and pressure and Keith’s ears are ringing, but he’s still alive.

So’s the prince, groaning as he pushes himself to his feet. He tilts his head. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Keith doesn’t unmask himself, choosing to shrug silently instead.

Lotor offers him a pinched little smile. “Your sense of nobility is going to get you killed one day. But I must thank you for saving my life. Oh, don’t _shrug_ at me again, Keith, I _know_ it’s you.” He glances up at the sky, where the battleships are facing off, the Black Lion a purple speck streaking through the cloud of explosions. “This is not what I wanted,” he laments. “They’re ripping out each other’s throats!”

Keith clenches his fists at his sides, overcome with an inexplicable urge to touch Lotor’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is my empire,” Lotor reminds him, and then Sendak crashes down between them with a roar and there’s no more time to chat.

* * *

Later, the flame of the Kral Zera burning violet against the sky, Keith tucks himself up under a rock ledge and prods at his communicator, hoping to get it working long enough to contact the Blade. Some piece inside it is rattling around, knocked loose by his dive down the staircase no doubt, and he can’t get so much as a burst of static out of it. Okay. He’d known the Blade would leave him behind if he didn’t follow when they left. He’d known he might have to come up with some other plan to get himself off the planet. There must be an abandoned ship around here somewhere—an awful lot of pilots were lying dead at the base of the stairs by now, after all. And he can fly anything, he can, he’ll figure it out, he has to. He shoves his busted communicator back in his pouch and drops his forehead onto his knees. He’s just gotta rest for a moment—his entire body hurts, and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding into the fabric of his suit in a few places. It’s nowhere near his level of pain after the Trials, but he can tell he’s still pretty fucked up.

“Want a ride?”

Keith’s head jerks up. “Shiro. You waited for me?”

“Figured you might wanna catch a lift with us,” Shiro says, as if there’s nothing unusual about the situation, as if Keith hadn’t stranded himself on Feyiv by disobeying direct orders. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith lies. “That would—yeah, that’d help, thanks.”

Lotor is already waiting in Black when they get there, perched on a low bench seat Black has helpfully created at one side of the cockpit. “I wondered where you’d run off to,” he says, when Keith enters. “Again, I must express my gratitude—”

“It’s fine,” Keith grits out. “It’s not a big deal.” He moves to stand behind the flight seat where Shiro is setting coordinates for the journey, but out of the corner of his eye, he can tell Lotor’s still staring. “ _What?_ ” he hisses.

“You may sit down, if you like,” Lotor says. “I only mention this because you appear to be in a great deal of discomfort.”

“No, I’m just—” Keith glances at Shiro, who’s looking up at him with eyes as gentle and gray as a calm sea on an overcast day. “I’m _fine_.”

“Keith, could I see you in the back for a moment?” Shiro asks.

“Fine,” Keith says again, and stalks into the room behind the cockpit, vehemently _not_ limping.

Shiro lets the door slide close and leans against it, arms folded loosely over his chest. “I’m worried about you.”

“No need to be.” Keith slumps against the wall opposite Shiro. “I’m just bruised. I think.”

“Mind if I check?”

Keith could say no, and they’ll go back into the cockpit, and Shiro won’t mention it again, and once Keith is back at the Blades’ base he can sequester himself in his room and look himself over alone. He could say no, and he _should_ , because everything between them is strained and tense in ways it never was before. It doesn’t seem right to put himself in Shiro’s hands like that, to let Shiro see the places he’s beaten and broken. They hardly even talk nowadays.

“Keith,” Shiro says, so softly that Keith’s heart starts aching as bad as the rest of him.

“Okay, okay.” Keith turns his back and reaches for the zipper at the back of his suit.

But Shiro’s hands are already there, drawing the zipper down and carefully peeling the fabric from his shoulders. Keith hears him pull in a shaky breath, like he’s trying _not_ to gasp.

“What is it?”

“They did a number on you, that’s all. Hold on a sec.” Shiro goes to a cabinet on the wall and returns moments later with a first-aid kit. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

Inch by inch, Shiro searches Keith’s body for open wounds, for bruises rising to the surface of his skin in smears of black and red and purple, and for secret invisible pain hidden deep in his muscles. Shiro’s hands ease both his physical agony and the anguish in his heart, and Keith closes his eyes against the sting of tears.

When Shiro finishes, he wraps his arms around Keith’s bare shoulders and pulls him to his chest. “I want you to know that whatever happens, wherever you go, you always have a home with us. I haven’t said that as often as I should have, and I’m sorry for that.”

Keith tenses. “It’s—”

“Fine, right? No, it’s not, and you’re not, and we’re not. I know you and I aren’t like we used to be, Keith. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed or that it doesn’t hurt you.” Shiro tightens his grip. “I just wanted to tell you that it’s going to be okay, and you can always come home whenever you need to, for as long as you need to. And that I am so proud of you, always.”

Keith twists around in Shiro’s grasp so he can get his arms around Shiro, too. He presses his face into Shiro’s shoulder and hangs on tight. Shiro holds him while his shoulders shake, murmuring words to him he barely hears, until he’s exhausted himself. Then Shiro gets him dressed in a spare bodysuit that’s soft and stretchy and much more comfortable given how banged-up he is. Then he follows Shiro back into the cockpit, trying out the idea: _Home_. It doesn’t feel impossible for once.

Lotor’s exactly where they left him. “Are you feeling better?” he asks.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Keith does sit down this time, leaving plenty of space between himself and Lotor.

“Good. I must admit, I was worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I can take worse.”

Lotor frowns. “You are incredibly strong, so I am sure that you could, but I do hope you will never need to.”

Keith leans his head back against the wall. He’s so tired, he could fall asleep right here. “I’m in the wrong line of work for never getting beat up.”

“Perhaps someday you won’t be,” Lotor says, and it sounds familiar, but Keith can’t quite remember why.

The next thing he knows, Shiro’s shaking him awake. “Keith, we’re here. They sent a ship out for you—I didn’t think Black could make it through.”

They’ve arrived at the perilous route into the Blades’ headquarters. Keith stares out the window at the system of blue star and black holes, and he knows if he asked Shiro to take him home, Shiro would turn Black around without question. But Keith has responsibilities here—people depending on him in ways Voltron does not. He hugs Shiro goodbye and says, “I’m going to come home, I promise,” and tries to memorize the smile Shiro gives him, for the nights when he’s loneliest.

* * *

A year passes, during which Keith spends his waking hours fighting or planning to fight or training to fight. And then—with peace finally on the horizon—he comes home. Shiro’s waiting for him just outside the airlock like always, and Keith steps through the door and into his arms. They’ve patched the failing seams of their friendship, and Keith has a feeling they’ll never again come so close to breaking apart.

Keith lets go of Shiro, and only then does he notice Shiro has company. He freezes, taking in the sight: Lotor, standing back from the airlock to let Shiro meet Keith first, wearing the same armor as always. But now there’s a heavy purple cape pinned around his shoulders that nearly brushes the ground, and a golden circlet rests on his head. Back straight, half a head taller than Shiro when he comes to stand beside him, he’s every inch an emperor. Without meaning to, Keith looks him up and down, and when his gaze lands on Lotor’s face again—there’s that smirk.

Lotor must mistake Keith’s hesitance for meekness. “Please, do not bow to me,” he says, in a low voice that is probably meant to be reassuring, but instead just fucks up Keith’s ability to think straight.

Keith steps into the corridor, the airlock door whooshing shut behind him. “Wasn’t planning on it. You don’t like to say hello or something?”

Lotor’s smirk broadens. Now Shiro is looking back and forth between them, and then he nods and makes a tiny “ahh” sound like he’s just figured something out, and Keith needs Shiro to know there’s nothing here to figure out, he’s just _startled_ —

“Hello, Keith.” Lotor holds out an open hand, and Keith readies himself for a handshake—but Lotor takes his right hand, turns it palm-upward, and bows his head low to press a light kiss to the inside of Keith’s wrist, so quick Keith almost doesn’t believe that just happened.

It takes Keith a moment to manage a laugh. Lotor is already looking into his eyes, and whatever he’s seeing there hasn’t driven the smile off his face yet. Keith concentrates on taking slow, even breaths. “Is that a Galra emperor thing? Ordering people not to bow and then kissing their hands?”

A dark flush is spreading across Lotor’s cheeks—finally, a crack in his smart-ass armor. “It is not an ‘emperor thing,’” he admits. “But I suppose it is customary for us in—these situations.”

Huh.

Shiro clears his throat. “I have to go do…stuff,” he says. “Political stuff. Very boring. You guys don’t have to come, we can just catch up later. Okay?”

“That sounds perfect,” answers Lotor, not taking his eyes off Keith.

“I’m gonna need you to explain some things,” Keith says, when Shiro’s footsteps have faded.

“I will tell you anything you want to know.”

“I mean, what are you _doing_? What’s with the staring at me, and—and the kissing thing, and waiting for me here in the first place?”

“Are you so unaware of how you fascinate me?”

“I—” Keith blinks, thrown. “I do?” He tries to summon some anger, even just a scrap of displeasure, _something_ , but it’s not there. He’s not trying in the slightest to move away from Lotor, and he knows exactly why.

Lotor glides closer to him; only a hair’s-breadth of space separates them now. “I want to discover you, Keith. If you’ll let me.”

“Discover _what_?”

“I want to know everything about you. How you became a Paladin, how you joined the Blades…” Lotor raises one hand, ever so slowly, and touches Keith’s cheek. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. He drags his fingertips down and presses them into the side of Keith’s neck, right where Keith’s pulse thrums against Lotor’s touch. “How it feels to kiss you.” He’s watching Keith carefully, as if checking his reaction.

“Okay,” Keith breathes, and his hands come up to grip Lotor’s waist, and Lotor dips down to press soft, tentative kisses to Keith’s mouth. One kiss lingers—Keith opens his mouth—and just like that he’s making out with the emperor of the Galra Empire. Keith of a year ago would have been scandalized; Keith of the present day has decided he’s a huge fan of intergalactic diplomacy.

“There’s more,” Lotor whispers. “I would also like to know…how you look beneath me.”

Keith has momentarily forgotten how to breathe. “Who says I’d ever put myself beneath you?” he shoots back, even though his voice shakes.

“You could be anywhere you like. All I want is to see you come undone.”

Keith can’t stop the shudder that runs through him. “When we met, you said you wanted to hear my story.”

“I still do.”

“I could come by your room after dinner,” Keith suggests, face flaming and beyond caring. “And tell you everything then.”

“I should like that very much.” Lotor’s hand falls to Keith’s hip, squeezing gently. “I look forward to exploring our commonalities.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to [@kcgane](http://kcgane.tumblr.com) for her many pieces of Lotor and Keith meta that helped me figure out this piece! thanks also to [@cherrybomb-and-starlight](http://cherrybomb-and-starlight.tumblr.com), who solved one particular problem I was having. :)
> 
> come say hi [on tumblr](https://belovedsheith.tumblr.com), where I scream about mostly sheith but also other ships! :p


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